


The Day After

by nicpic



Series: Partners [1]
Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, During Canon, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Gore, Mild Language, can be read as slash but only if you try REALLY hard, ill probably add more later, just two emotionally repressed dudes and their disaster partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicpic/pseuds/nicpic
Summary: You stop. You take a deep breath. You flex your right hand. It stills.You get to work.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois & Kim Kitsuragi, Kim Kitsuragi & Jean Vicquemare, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Partners [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927078
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	The Day After

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Blackjack Boogie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322985) by [luminality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality/pseuds/luminality). 



**_Whirling In Rags, The Tribunal_ **

As you attempt to thread your surgical needle, you cannot help but remember that moment in inexplicable clarity, playing repeatedly in the back your mind like a demented alarm clock: the look in his eyes, the blood warming your knees, the gun caressed between trembling fingers. 

He hands you the gun. You shoot.

The thread is still not through the eye of the needle. You rip off your gloves for better sensitivity, but it does not help. _Focus, Lieutenant,_ you think. _He’s still bleeding out. You need to do this quickly or he will die._

You hear Garte shout something nearby. You think you hear sobbing. Male. Middle-aged. Sirens echo off the desolate cobblestone alleys surrounding the Whirling In Rags. You remember that Harry muttered something. The sirens get louder. Most likely an apology, knowing him. It may be the last thin-

You stop. You take a deep breath. You flex your right hand. It stills. 

You get to work.

. . .

**_Whirling In Rags, The Day After_ **

A night has passed and Harry is not dead. He is sleeping fitfully on the recently cleaned couch in his room in the Whirling in Rags. Behind you, Garte shuffles about, humming an indistinct melody under his breath as he tackles the ungodly mess. 

You press a hand to your temple. You swallow another painkiller.

A knock echoes from the door. Garte glances at you. You put a hand on your RCM issued holster and nod. 

“Coming in,” calls out a familiar, gruff voice. Your hand relaxes by your side.

RCM Satellite-Officer Jean Vicquemare of Precinct 41 opens the door and enters the room, eyes searching and landing immediately on the bundle of bandages and blankets stretched across the couch. He stares blankly at Harry for approximately 5 seconds. He coughs.

“Lieutenant,” he greets. “How are you doing?” His gaze is still set on Harry.

“I am doing fine, officer.” Silence stretches out for several moments. Garte quietly excuses himself and leaves.

“And the shitkid,” he mutters. “How is he holding up?” Something softens around the edges of his eyes. The satellite-officer slowly edges in, stepping around the bottles littering the floor, and closes the door behind him. He is holding a bright yellow Frittte bag in his left hand.

You turn back to Harry. “The first shot Detective Du Bois sustained rebounded off of the Fairweather T-500 ceramic cuirass he confiscated from a Revacholian local. Due to the proximity of the shot and the rifle’s high firepower, the bullet left a sizable bruise on his right shoulder.” You sigh. “The second shot, however, hit an exposed portion of the detective’s thigh. On-site medical attention was necessary and was completed by me. Currently, he is stable but unconscious. We cannot help but wait to see if he wakes. It is all in the report I verbally communicated to Precinct 57 this morning.”

The satellite-officer appears in your peripheral view. You smell fresh cigarette smoke, but he is not holding one in his hand. “Yes, I read the transcript. Thank you for your diligence, Lieutenant.” He gingerly sits on the edge of the couch and holds up his plastic bag. “It’s almost noon. I brought some food from the Frittte around the corner.” He hands you a plastic-wrapped triangle sandwich, containing one layer each of ham and cheese, and a refreshingly cool water bottle. You take them wordlessly and start unwrapping the plastic. He does the same for his. “A young man in a purple shirt informed me you had only exited this room once this entire day and only for several minutes,” he explains, “and I figured that wasn’t enough time to get food.”

“Thank you.” You take a bite out of the sandwich. The bread feels grainy on the roof of your mouth. “You were correct in that deduction.” You wash down the bite with a gulp of cool water. You glance at Officer Vicquemare. You catch his eyes quickly flitting down to Harry.

“He seemed worried about you two.”

“He was one of many witnesses the detective interrogated for the investigation. I believe Detective Du Bois liked him and he liked him back.” You smile a bit.

He raises an eyebrow. “I see.” He takes in a mouthful of cheap bread and deli.

“If you don’t mind me asking, officer,” you say, “I would like to know why you are here.” The question comes out more confrontational than you intended.

The officer finishes chewing before replying. He swallows. “Judit asked me to check on the bastard. We have to file our own report on the situation, which seems redundant given your stellar report,” he nods to you, “but it’s protocol. I’m here to get an idea of what happened and go.”

You do not remember any such protocol, but that may be because of the concussion. “Do you wish to read over my notes on the situation?”

“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. I have what I need.” He sets the yellow bag on the floor and throws the remainder of his sandwich in a trash bin. “In the bag are some painkillers and an extra first-aid kit. Lazareth Gottlieb sends his regards.” He stands up and makes to leave.

“Wait, officer. I have one more question.”

“Shoot.” He straightens his uniform.

“You seem…” You feel unsure. Curiosity gets the better of you. “You are speaking much more… mildly, since last we met.”

Vicquemare sighs. “Just because I tell the shitkid what he deserves doesn’t mean I can’t be professional.” He turns toward the exit. “Nice meeting you, Kitsuragi. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. He pauses, looks over his shoulder. “And don’t tell him I was here when he wakes up.”

You watch as the last scrap of black fabric disappears behind the closing door, half-eaten sandwich in your hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was written by nicpic and circopoi was my editor. In case anyone was confused, the young man in the purple shirt was the smoker on the balcony.
> 
> Please leave kudos and a comment :)


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